


The Dungeon

by Josselin



Series: The Dungeon [1]
Category: Captive Prince
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: They came to a corner of the dungeon with a tiny cell and a single man in it. Lazar was standing guard in front of the cell and he nodded at them, handed Laurent a torch, and opened the door.





	1. Chapter 1

The door opened so quickly that it hit the wall behind before the guard was able to react and catch it. The entire council turned to face the doorway expectantly. The interruption was Jord.

Laurent half-rose from his chair. Damen could see the biting remark Laurent was about to direct toward the interruption being swallowed as Laurent took in the expression on Jord’s face. Jord had taken in the room with a glance and focused his gaze on Laurent. “You’ll want to come see this,” Jord said. He didn’t speak exceptionally loudly but it felt as though his voice echoed because the room had become so silent at the sudden interruption. 

Laurent stood up completely. He pushed back his chair behind him and the wooden chair legs against the stone floor also seemed notably loud. Laurent took three steps toward the door and then Damen rose also and followed them. 

Neither of them asked where they were going and Jord led them to the dungeons at a brisk walk. They had spent two seasons in Ios and had only recently returned to Arles. It had only been two weeks in the Veretian capital so far, and Damen already missed their time in his country. Not because he was so fond of his own land, or of his countrymen. He was, but he was happy to split his time between his own homeland and Laurent’s. But he missed Akielos because he missed Laurent-in-Akielos, where he could tease Laurent into riding with him through the Artesian ruins or showing him places Damen remembered from childhood or coaxing Laurent into progressively relaxed Akielon fashions. 

In Vere, Laurent had taken out his old clothes, had his tailors adjust them because he’d become slightly broader across the shoulders, and along with the laced and buttoned jackets Laurent’s time became more and more occupied with Veretian affairs and he had less time for Damen.

But they had only been in Vere two weeks. Laurent had already begun an enormous quantity of work, everything from reviewing the contents of the treasury to interviewing his uncle’s political prisoners. There were dozens of petitioners each day who wanted to meet with the king, and nobles competing over themselves to throw entertainments to try to earn the king’s interest. They planned to spend two seasons in Arles; Damen hoped that after a few weeks of their occupancy the frantic pace of everything demanding Laurent’s attention might settle down and they would be better able to have a few moments to relax.

The true dungeons of Arles were nothing like the pet quarters where Damen had been kept in ridiculous golden chains and silks. Laurent must have had the iron bolts that had kept Damen fastened to the wall specially installed upon Damen’s arrival to keep him convenient to Laurent’s personal quarters and away from his uncle. The dungeons were beneath the oldest wing of the palace. It was apparent from that wing that the palace, which was now glittering with ornamentation, had at one time been a functional castle built for defense. The stone walls were thicker, the windows were tiny slits for archers. Underneath the castle in the dungeon it was dark even at midday and there was a faint tinge of damp. Staying in the dungeons could certainly never be beneficial to anyone’s health.

Jord spoke to Laurent in a low voice as they went down the stairs. “We’ve been reviewing all of the prisoners and their cases as you instructed. The warden’s books were generally good, so we had the records of everyone’s trial and sentencing to compare with their account.”

Damen knew that much. Jord had been talking with Laurent about some of the prisoners whose sentencing had seemed more a function of being politically inconvenient to his uncle than having been justly convicted of an actual crime.

“There was one prisoner that was never listed in any of the warden’s accounts, so it took us a few days to realize that the counts were off between the number of men and the records, and then to determine which of the prisoners it was. And then—” Jord paused uncertainly, and they had reached a metal grate in the dungeon that screeched as they opened it. “—There was a mask—”

They came to a corner of the dungeon with a tiny cell and a single man in it. Lazar was standing guard in front of the cell and he nodded at them, handed Laurent a torch, and opened the door. 

Laurent walked through the opening and then halted in the doorway. Damen came to a stop a step behind him; his view blocked by Laurent’s position. Laurent took another step into the cell. His eyes were locked on the man inside, but when he spoke his voice seemed directed back at Jord and Lazar. “Is it—”

Damen pushed Laurent forward gently another step so that he could also move into the cell and see what was going on. The prisoner was a man, thin and weak from long imprisonment. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, and the skin of his face was red and raw. The prisoner’s head was turned toward them and he was squinting in the dim light of Laurent’s torch.

Jord was starting to answer Laurent’s question. “He—”

“Laurent?” the prisoner said, his voice weak and rough. 

Laurent swore softly and dropped to his knees suddenly. He dropped the torch, and Damen swore, and picked it up and stamped on the sparks it left on a patch of straw in the cell. 

“Laurent?” the prisoner said again, reaching toward where Laurent had fallen. Laurent crawled across the floor and reached out, his hands hovering over the prisoner as though he weren’t sure the man were real.

Damen turned to Jord. “Fetch Paschal.” Jord nodded and went back toward the stairs at a run. 

Laurent still seemed hesitant to touch the prisoner, but the prisoner had reached out his hand to place on Laurent’s arm, and Laurent had permitted it. They were sitting very close. Laurent’s face was a maelstrom of more emotions than Damen had ever seen him express before. 

“I thought you were dead,” the prisoner said, clutching Laurent’s arm. “He said he was going to kill you and then he didn’t come back and I worried you were dead and—”

“You thought I—” said Laurent, before he choked in a half-sob. “He’s dead,” Laurent said.

“Good,” the prisoner said. “I was so worried—”

“I didn’t know,” said Laurent. “I should have checked. I shouldn’t have believed—it’s my fault—” Laurent’s words became less comprehensible as he seemed to break past some sort of hesitation and rested his hands gently on the other man. 

“No, no no,” the prisoner said. His voice was raspy. Damen suspected the last few minutes had been more talking than the man might have typically done in a month. 

Laurent was crying against the prisoner now, and the frail man had wrapped an arm delicately around him, and Damen was starting to realize as the man seemed to also take in Damen’s presence in the cell, still standing by the door and holding the torch.

The man stiffened suddenly as he looked at Damen. “Laurent,” he said. “Is—that—Damianos of Akielos?”


	2. Chapter 2

Damen could hear Jord and Paschal approaching through the hallway. The prisoner was shifting nervously into the corner of the cell, still curling one of his arms around Laurent protectively. 

Laurent looked up. His face was tear stained. He took in the prisoner’s movements and nervous eyeing of Damen. “Damen, could you—” 

Damen agreed, and handed the torch back to Lazar and stepped out of the cell. He edged up against the wall to let Paschal through the cell door as he could hear the prisoner saying, incredulously, “Damen?” at Laurent’s use of his small name.

The noise from the cell turned into Paschal’s calm commentary on the man’s condition and the state of Laurent’s hand where he had scraped it when he fell to the ground. Both of Paschal’s patients were insisting they were fine and that the physician should see to the other. 

Damen turned to Jord and Lazar. “Is it him?”

They looked uneasily at each other. Jord hesitated and Lazar was the one who answered. “It looks like him,” Lazar said. “And his highness seems to think so,” he said, nodding toward Laurent in the cell.

“Do you recognize him?” Jord turned the question on Damen.

Damen shook his head. “Not in this condition. He seems to recognize me.”

Laurent emerged in the doorway. “We’re going to move him upstairs.” Laurent looked at Jord. “Can you make sure that there is a room in the east wing?” He turned to Lazar, “Paschal needs some supplies from his room, can you fetch his satchel?” Finally, Laurent turned to Damen. “I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Damen said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Finish with the council?” said Laurent.

“Of course,” Damen said, and he left Laurent in the dungeons.

Damen gave a vague excuse to the council. He was not comfortable sharing what had happened with them prior to having more of an opportunity to discuss it with Laurent, and yet he was also unable to think of any sort of convincing lie. It was impossible to convince them to focus on any of the remaining business without Laurent and without a clear reason for why he was absent, but Damen met with some of the petitioners that had come to see Laurent that day to settle their questions.

Jord organized the king’s guard into clearing the east wing for the transport of the prisoner upstairs, and the number of soldiers in uniform in the palace was more than usual and an indication that something was wrong. 

By mid-afternoon, Damen had dismissed the petitioners and made his way to hover around the east wing, hoping to spot Laurent. He saw Paschal instead, and went over to question the physician in an alcove. Paschal was reorganizing the contents of his satchel.

“How is he?” Damen said.

Paschal gave Damen a knowing look. “The king is fine.”

Damen’s brow creased, “Do you mean—”

Paschal shook his head. “I know your first thought is always for Laurent. Laurent is fine.”

Laurent might be fine physically, but based on what Damen had seen earlier, Laurent was not fine. For once, however, that had not been the question on Damen’s mind.

“Is it him?” Damen said. “Is it—” he hesitated for a moment, not certain what type of honorific he should be applying. He could not settle on the appropriate title in his mind and finally abandoned the effort. “—Auguste?”

Paschal regarded Damen for a long moment, considering. “I am convinced that it is, yes.”

“How is that possible?” 

“All of us have more questions than he has energy to answer right now,” Paschal said calmly.

“How is he?” said Damen. 

“Poorly,” said Paschal frankly. The physician went through a litany of Auguste’s physical ailments. He was weak from hunger and inactivity, his lungs were weak from the damp and the chill of the dungeons. His face might be scarred from the mask. 

“He will recover?” said Damen.

Paschal nodded. “Physically, yes. He has survived this long; there is no reason he should not improve rapidly in better conditions.”

“But—” Damen prompted.

“Imprisonment, solitude—too much can damage a man’s mind. He might not be the same man that we remember.”

“What can we do for him?” said Damen. 

Paschal prescribed rest, a bit of sunshine each day, and a diet of progressively heartier food. 

“My presence seemed to upset him,” said Damen.

“There is much for him to take in,” said Paschal mildly. “The king is staying with him now.”

Damen nodded. He wanted to see Laurent, but he could wait.

He spoke with Jord and Lazar, who had already arranged for extra guards around the east wing, and to turn away any visitors who were not Paschal nor expressly summoned by the king. Damen nodded approvingly. Then, since he could not help Laurent personally and he was not needed to guard Laurent’s privacy, he went again to deal with as much of the council business as he could.

He sent regrets for both himself and Laurent to Lady Ablesse, who had invited them to an entertainment that evening, and Damen retired to bed early and then turned restlessly in the bed, wishing that Laurent were with him. 

Damen did not see Laurent the following day, either. He checked with Lazar and Jord for a report first thing in the morning and heard that Laurent was fine and had sent for some food. He dealt with the increasingly persistent questions from the council and then with another set of petitioners, and then he talked again with Paschal, who assured him again that Laurent was fine and that Auguste was improving. 

The second day he attended the scheduled entertainment by himself, and then he was in the position of assuring others that Laurent was fine. He spoke with one group of nobles and then another mingled throughout Estienne’s garden, always the same set of meaningless pleasantries. 

In Akielos, the king mingling among a crowd would have resulted in an awkward amount of the guests falling to their knees every few minutes, but here he could simply nod pleasantly at the others and they nodded in response or bowed slightly at the waist, depending on their rank. Laurent was fine, he told anyone who inquired after his highness. “Merely tending to some urgent matters.”

Pallas accompanied him from Estienne’s city estate back to the palace at the conclusion of the evening. “It’s different from Akielos,” Damen said. Pallas’s father was a landholder in Isthima and Pallas would have been familiar with Akielon entertainments before he began his military service. 

“Yes, exalted,” said Pallas.

“Do you miss Ios?” 

Pallas shrugged. “It is interesting to see new places.”

“I suppose you never thought you’d spend several seasons in the Veretian capital.”

Pallas agreed it wasn’t something he’d anticipated. 

Damen had some small hope that when he retired to his rooms he might find Laurent there, but Laurent’s chambers were empty. Laurent had refused, when they had returned to Arles, to take over the king’s chambers, which had been most recently occupied by his uncle. Instead, Laurent had installed himself back into the same rooms he had kept when Damen had first been presented to him. 

One of Damen’s squires helped him to undress, and he dismissed the boy and blew out the candle in his room, missing Laurent and anticipating another sleepless night.

He drowsed, and awoke to a noise in the room. Laurent was partially undressed and crawled into the bed in the darkness. 

Damen reached for him sleepily and drew Laurent into his arms. Laurent settled against his shoulder. “Have you slept?”

Laurent made a noise, which probably meant no. “Paschal gave him a draught, so he could sleep.” Damen had been tempted to ask Paschal for one of those himself, though he thought he could sleep now that Laurent was back. They could sleep, and then in the morning they could talk.

Laurent was squirming, though, and then he sat up in the bed and drew off the remainder of his clothing, tossing his shirt and small clothes to the floor with uncharacteristic messiness. 

Once Laurent had finished undressing, Damen settled him against his shoulder again and closed his eyes. He was tired and Laurent was warm against him.

There was a moment of quiet, and sleep’s embrace had Damen in its hold. He could feel the start of a dream unfolding. Laurent shifted in his arms, pressing against him. Laurent’s voice was in his ear. “Do you want to—” Laurent said.

It had been far from Damen’s mind. “I’m tired.”

Laurent moved again in his embrace. “We could be quick.”

Laurent tended to still be shy about such things, and it was unusual for him to suggest bed play. 

“It’s been so long,” Laurent continued in his ear. This was true; they hadn’t since they’d arrived back in Arles. Laurent had been too busy and the stone arches of Laurent’s rooms in Arles reminded Damen of a time that had felt more distant when they had been in Akielos.

The invitation was intriguing enough to wake Damen up slightly. He shifted Laurent in his embrace, reaching for Laurent’s arousal to stroke him. 

Laurent moaned in his ear, and Damen started to feel aroused himself. He was helpless to Laurent, he thought. No lover had ever had that kind of power over Damen. One of his former slaves would have never presumed to ask for sex, and certainly never when the king seemed interested in sleep.

Laurent shifted positions so he was half on top of Damen and moving his hips rhythmically against Damen’s hand. His lips pressed gently to Damen’s shoulder, and then he found a better use for his lips, and produced a string of filthy promises of things he was going to do to Damen when they had more time. At least three of the things that he mentioned were ideas Damen had never thought of before, much less tried, and he shivered as the ideas filled his mind.

“I want you to fuck me,” said Laurent. A minute earlier Damen would have offered to please Laurent and forgo his own pleasure in favor of sleep, but Laurent had persuaded him. He groaned, and rolled Laurent onto his back.

Laurent made a pleased noise and produced a vial of oil from wherever it was that he always found them at the necessary moment, pressing it into Damen’s hand.

“You will ruin me,” said Damen. His lips found Laurent’s neck as he stretched Laurent with a finger in preparation. 

“I thought you wanted this to be quick,” said Laurent. 

Damen was beyond words. A sleepless and worried night, two busy days without seeing Laurent, and then Laurent’s teasing words—it all combined into the physicality of the moment of their joining. Damen held Laurent’s hips steady so he could move against Laurent more evenly. Laurent was writhing sinuously on the bed in a manner that distracted from Damen’s movement. Damen pulled Laurent up further into his lap, and Laurent’s back arched against the bed. Damen snapped his hips again, and he was so close to finishing.

“Laurent?”

Damen scrambled for sheets to cover them at the interruption. 

Laurent rolled out of bed. His breathing was uneven and even in the dark Damen could tell in the shadows that his hair was mussed. But his voice was even and mildly concerned. “Auguste? What’s wrong?”

“I looked for you in the king’s quarters and you weren’t there,” said Auguste. Auguste was looking back and forth from Laurent to Damen. Laurent was grabbing for a dressing robe from a chair and Damen was still on the bed. Damen tried to use one of the bedsheets to cover himself more modestly. Auguste himself was wearing the same sort of casual trousers Laurent sometimes wore to bed and no shirt. At some point, someone had helped him to trim his hair and beard to something like a typical Veretian fashion. The shadows showed the hollows of his ribs. Damen couldn’t tell if he had a scar.

“These are my quarters,” said Laurent. “Why were you looking for me?”

Auguste’s eyes had settled on Damen, finally. Damen wished Laurent would hand him his robe, but Laurent was focused on his brother. Damen fought a childish urge to pull the sheets entirely over his own head and hide.

Laurent walked over to Auguste and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re exhausted. Let me walk you back to your room.”

Auguste permitted himself to be led from the room. The door closed behind the two of them.

Damen let himself fall down to the bed. He wondered if he could smother himself with a pillow and if he did if that would alleviate his embarrassment.


	3. Chapter 3

Laurent returned to their rooms early in the morning hours. Damen again roused slightly from his restless sleep when Laurent climbed into bed a second time.

“Want to finish?” said Laurent.

Damen groaned. “No.”

He could hear the smile in Laurent’s voice. “My shy Akielon.”

“We will have to abstain forever,” said Damen. 

“What if we returned to Akielos?” said Laurent.

Damen conceded perhaps they could try again in that circumstance. Laurent laughed lightly, and the sound warmed Damen.

“Laurent,” he said after a moment. “ _Are_ we to return to Akielos?” 

But Laurent was already asleep.

Laurent slipped away in the morning before Damen was able to talk with him, and Damen was faced with a third day of explaining Laurent’s absence to the council and petitioners. 

He received another report from Paschal on Auguste’s health. The physician was pleased with Auguste’s progress. Damen summoned Jord for a report on what was going on in the east wing, and Jord’s report was full of hesitations when he had to decide what sort of honorific to use. He clearly wasn’t sure how to refer to Auguste, and he started to hesitate about Laurent as well. If Jord were hesitating about Laurent’s right to the throne, it was a clear indicator of what was to happen when Auguste’s presence was more widely known, Damen thought. He wondered if he ought to send for Nikandros. The Akielon troops were still stationed in the border region; they could come to Arles in a matter of days. He needed to talk to Laurent about it; Laurent would know what to do.

In the late afternoon, once he had dispensed again with the council, he went to the east wing. Lazar was stationed at the entrance and nodded as he let Damen past.

Damen followed Laurent’s voice to the guest chambers they’d installed Auguste in. The brothers were seated together in a window seat overlooking the garden. Auguste had his legs curled up in front of him on the seat defensively and was staring out the window. Laurent sat next to him in a relaxed pose. Seated informally next to a window rather than formally on a throne, Laurent looked younger than he typically did. He had only just turned twenty-one, Damen reminded himself. Auguste would be about thirty, but he seemed older. Laurent was talking softly about something; Damen could recognize his voice but not make out the threads of the conversation.

He cleared his throat in the doorway. The brothers looked over at him, and there was something uncannily similar in the way they each tilted their heads at his interruption. Damen did not want to upset Auguste and tried to choose his words carefully. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Laurent, when you have a chance, could I speak with you?”

Laurent nodded, and he said something else in a low voice to his brother, and then he rose off of the window seat, stretching his back in an arch and reaching his arms out as he stood. Laurent took a step away from the window to join Damen in the doorway, and Auguste made a noise, and reached for Laurent’s arm. 

Laurent stared at the hand on his forearm for a moment, and then raised his eyes to Auguste’s face. Damen wasn’t sure what exactly he saw there, but it seemed to lead him to some kind of decision. He turned to Damen. “Damen, would you like to join us?” 

Damen hesitated. He had meant to speak to Laurent alone. 

Damen had envisioned, in dreamy moments a few times in the past, what it might have been like to have spoken with Laurent’s brother in a different life. If they had met in peacetime instead of war, and he had requested permission to court Laurent properly or formally asked his brother for his hand rather than simply proposing to Laurent himself. But those had been dreams, not practical plans, and Damen was completely unprepared to sit down with Auguste.

However, there had been something in Laurent’s tone that had indicated what he expected of Damen in this circumstance. 

“If you’d like,” said Damen.

Laurent gestured to an armchair near to the window seat and Damen approached across the room and sat down gingerly. Auguste still had hold of Laurent’s arm.

Damen had meant to speak to Laurent of politics. Of what to say to the council and of whether he should summon the kyroi and their men to the center of Vere in anticipation of unrest. But that seemed coarse and unfeeling, now, sitting in the ornate Veretian bedroom. He was tempted to speak in Akielon--if Auguste command of it were as poor as Laurent's had been when they first met, he might not be able to follow. But that also seemed inconsiderate.

“I hope you are feeling better,” Damen said instead, addressing Auguste directly.

There was a long moment. 

“Yes,” said Auguste. “Thank you for asking.”

There was another drawn out silence.

Laurent helped. “The council is becoming anxious,” he surmised.

Damen nodded. “They are worried that you are unwell. It’s known you’re in the east wing, and Paschal has been seen coming and going. Herode was questioning Paschal yesterday, and while Paschal did not offer any explanations, their interest has been persistent.”

Laurent steepled his hands in front of him in thought.

Damen looked at Auguste. Auguste kept his gaze firmly on his brother. Damen continued. “Would it be prudent to send for Nikandros?” he purposefully used his friend’s name rather than referring to him as the kyroi in Delpha leading all of the Akielon troops not in Damen’s personal guard, knowing Laurent would understand but wondering if it might be more delicate for Auguste than talking about military maneuvers.

Laurent considered this.

“I’ll meet with the council tomorrow morning,” he decided. “That should ease most of the rumors. We can make a decision about Nikandros after that.”

Damen nodded.

“Any other news?” said Laurent.

“Nothing requiring your attention,” said Damen.

“Thank you,” said Laurent. It wasn’t quite a dismissal, but it felt akin to one. Damen stood. 

“Will I see you later?” he asked.

Auguste was looking out the window. Laurent looked at his brother and then back at Damen. “We’ll see,” said Laurent.

Damen nodded. He wasn’t usually affectionate with Laurent in public, but he wanted to touch Laurent somehow. To offer some kind of reassurance and support with a hand on his shoulder or a brush of lips against his cheek. But Auguste was there. After a moment, Damen turned to the door. 

Laurent did not return to their chambers that evening. Damen slept poorly.

The next that Damen saw Laurent was during the following morning’s council meeting. Damen himself felt tired, and suspected that the circles under his eyes were detectable even by the council. Laurent seemed as severe-looking and contained as ever.

There was a mutter of whispers among the council members when Laurent entered the chamber. Herode addressed the king’s absence directly. “Your majesty, I’m glad to see you are well.”

Laurent nodded and settled himself into his chair. “I’m fine.”

Herode persisted. “And the urgent business which has kept you occupied?”

Laurent leveled an even look at Herode. Lesser men quailed under such a look. “It’s being handled,” said Laurent.

“We did not know if you were well, or how to manage the business of the kingdom,” said Herode.

“King Damianos assured you of my well being,” said Laurent, which of course Damen had, though he hadn’t been able to debrief with Laurent so Laurent must have been supposing. “And any council business which required urgent attention could be brought to him.”

Herode gaped. “But, he’s Akielon—”

The intensity of Laurent’s glare on Herode increased. “I trust him implicitly,” said Laurent. “You may do the same.”

Herode conceded, lowering his gaze and murmuring, “Your majesty.”

The rest of the council meeting was quick. Laurent dispensed with business by deciding on courses of action only partially through half of the explanations. Damen himself hoped to have a chance to speak to Laurent after the meeting, but Laurent escaped off to the east wing before Damen had the opportunity.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog on tumblr!](http://josselinkohl.tumblr.com/post/153043811677/the-dungeon-josselin-captive-prince-archive)


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